House of Swank

State Memories: Indiana

My experience in Indiana is limited to driving across the NW corner of the state on I-94 when Sweetie, the Hedgehog and I were circumnavigating Lake Michigan this summer.

We stopped for gas just east of Gary, Indiana, because you do not want to have to stop for gas in Gary, Indiana.  It was at a truck stop/minimart/Subway/McDonalds, and we were obviously not the only people with such a plan in mind.

Luckily, Sweetie and I travel well together, it's one of our great strengths, and a necessary skill when traveling with an infant in tow.  We executed the dance perfectly at that pit stop - gas, bathroom breaks, and snacks for all in an efficient manner.

Spectacular in just how boring it was.

State Memories: Illinois

Spring Break 2007 Sweetie and I went on a road trip through the Midwest.  He had been to every major league ballpark  in use at the time except New Busch Stadium, so he needed to get that checked off his list.  It was way cheaper for us to fly into Chicago, so we turned it into a sterotypical SwaknPoet roadtrip.

After a couple of days with my mom's family in St. Louis we spent the night with Sweetie's uncle in Illinois, and paid a visit to his father's childhood home.  While there we paid a visit to Sweetie's grandfather's grave.

As we were making our way to the small town where his father was raised, and his grandfather is buried, I asked Sweetie if we should stop to get flowers to put at the grave.  Because isn't that what you do, place flowers on people's graves?

Sweetie let me know that his grandfather would likely turn in his grave if we did something like put flowers there.  Instead, we stopped at a grocery store and picked up some all-purpose cleaner and paper towels.

When we arrived at the grave marker in the cemetery Sweetie spent several minutes cleaning it up and making it look as good as new.

That action really struck me as saying so much about Sweetie, his grandfather, and what people value in this world and how it comes across.  A very touching moment, indeed.

State Memories: Idaho

In ninth grade I sort of randomly ended up joining a Girl Scout Cadette troop.  It just so happened that the Girl Scout Diamond Jubilee Roundup was happening that summer somewhere outside of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. 

As luck would have it, virtually every member of my troop got our cycles in synch and we were all suffering from that time of the month simultaneously.  While camping.  Without flush toilets.  Or showers.

There were moments I was seriously jealous of my troop-mate with scoliosis.  Because of her back brace she had to shower daily, and thus was allowed the luxury of a solar shower.  No such luck for the rest of us.

You want to get all "I am Woman Hear Me Roar"?  Put a dozen 14-15 year olds on the rag together in a handful of tents in the middle of the forest for the week.  It was truly an eye-opening experience.

State Memories: Hawaii

Why yes, I did celebrate my honeymoon on the island of Kauai.  And no, my state memory of Hawaii did not take place that week.  It was a wonderful week, but there isn't that one, iconic memory of the week that separates itself from the rest.

I first visited Hawaii the summer of 1982, so that means I would have been 10 years old.  It was my grandfather's wish that my family take a vacation there after he died.  So we did.

We were staying in a condo right on the beach in Kauai.  There were a bunch of other families with kids the same age as me and my brother staying in the condos as well, and we all sort of banded together and hung out.  My brother had a "girlfriend" named Julie.  I had a huge crush on her brother, Joel.

There was a rainy spell, if memory serves, and Greg and Julie talked my dad into taking them to see a movie.  Blade Runner to be exact (I am surmising the date of our trip based on the release date of the movie. I could be off a year or so, but I don't think I am).  I wanted to be in on the fun as well.  And I'd never gotten to see a rated R movie before.  So I gathered all the courage I had and asked my parents if I could go, too.  Surprisingly enough, they said YES!  In questioning my parents about this decision after the fact they my dad basically let me know he said yes because he didn't want to have to sit alone in the movie theater.  But hey, rated R movie!  When you're 10 this is a HUGE deal.

And thus my life continued without incident.

It wasn't until 15 years later that the memory truly reached iconic status for me.  I was single in Seattle and had a date with some guy I'd met somehow.  We were going to go out to dinner and then to see the 15th anniversary director's cut of the film at Cinerama.  It was a dud of a date, but I remember watching the movie.  I couldn't remember any of the plot specifics from my earlier viewing, but the images and the mood definitely resonated.  And I spent the whole movie thinking "Good god, I cannot believe my parents let me watch this movie 15 years ago.  And I can't believe I escaped from it unscarred.  That is some disturbing stuff going on."

But see it I did.  My first rated R movie.  And a continuation in the love affair with Harrison Ford.

State Memories: Georgia

I am resurrecting the State Memory Project for NaBloPoMo as a good way to fill space on those days when I can't think of anything else to say.  When you account for states I haven't been to before, so have no memory of, I left off at Georgia.

I have been to Georgia once - in 2003.  Sweetie had a female student qualify for the National Forensics Tournament that year, so I got a free trip to Atlanta to serve as female chaperon.

Our first night in town we met up with some other teams from Washington at Underground Atlanta for dinner.  We converged in a courtyard outside of a Hooters and laid out the plan.  Everyone was going to scatter to their restaurant of choice, eat, and return to the courtyard at the appointed time.  Hooters was off limits.  And we're off.

As Sweetie and I went into the mall with a couple of other coaches we soon realized a problem with the plan -  we had arrived at the mall about 5-10 minutes before closing time, so all of the restaurants were shutting down.  We headed back to the courtyard, confident that all of the kids were intelligent enough that they would do the same thing when they had nowhere to eat and nowhere to shop available to them.

When we arrived back at the courtyard a few students were missing - including ours.  We ventured into Hooters to see if the students had broken the rules and lo and behold, they were there and waiting for their food to arrive.  There was a moment between the three coaches (each of whom had a student at the table) where there was a tension in the air as they tried to figure out the next step to take. 

As my official role on the trip was to have breasts and a vagina, I just stood there waiting to follow Sweetie's lead.  His student was 18, he knew her parents wouldn't care, and we knew she was already being tortured as a vegetarian forced to eat at Hooters, so he decided to just let things slide at the time.

Somehow, perhaps just due to inertia, it was decided that everyone would now be having dinner at Hooters.  It was open, it was convenient, we were hungry.  The coaches had a chuckle over the fact that this is one meal they'd be paying for themselves, as there is no way in heck they'd be expensing a receipt from Hooters at the end of the trip.  Coaches were forbidding students from even looking at the gift shop, much less purchasing anything.  One coach had big concerns about the reaction that her young, conservative student's parents would have if they learned their son had been to a Hooters while on a school trip and we tried to work through a best plan of action for her to follow.  It was going to just be a funny little footnote to the trip.

Except we had horrible service at our table.  Sweetie and I were sitting with two other coaches, and I believe we had a different waitress than the rest of our group, even though we were all sitting at contiguous tables.  Our waitress was very slow to take our orders and our food was taking forever to come out.  The other tables - big tables - that sat down at the same time as we did got their food before we did.  We pointed this out.  They were finishing their food.  They were getting their bill.  They were paying their bill.  We still had no food, and kept pointing out to our waitress that we needed to get our food so that we could be more-or-less on the same schedule as everyone else.  Still, no food arrived.  Everyone else had eaten, paid, an if we stuck around much longer people WOULD be venturing into the gift shop, so we had no other choice than to cut our losses.

We threw some cash on the table to cover all of our drinks (plus appropriate tip on those drinks) and left with everyone else.

While we were gathering everyone back up in the courtyard to get ready to head back to the hotel, Sweetie stopped at an ATM to get some cash.  I was loitering nearby him, and saw a cop come out of Hooters with the manager, ask one of the coaches we had been sitting with to remove his hands from his pockets, and asked him and our other coach-friend to step into the restaurant.  Sweetie and I followed them in, because obviously something was afoot.

The manager and cop were accusing us of dining and dashing.  Apparently, it is a common crime at this particular Hooters.  The female coach of our group quickly took control of the situation, pointing out that in order to dine and dash one must first dine, and it was impossible for us to have dined as we had never received any food.  We pointed out that we had left money for our drinks - it was still sitting on the table.  At about this time our waitress (proving that Hooters does not hire women for their brains) indicated that our food was finally ready!  You could see all of the gears connecting in the manager's brain as he offered to box up our meals to go.  We declined the offer and got the heck out of there.

A few lectures to the students on appropriate behavior later and we ended up eating at the Rock Bottom Brewery next to the hotel.  Much better food.  With a good story to tell about how we almost got arrested at Hooters while on a high school trip.  And I can still say I've never eaten at Hooters.

.... and yes, this is the same memory my Sweetie shared, but if you had something like this happen to you wouldn't it be high on your list of memories as well? 

State Memories: Colorado

I don't think it's intentional most of the time, but people have this really annoying tendency to be incredibly patronizing to you when you are pregnant. 

If they are someone who has never been pregnant you are this delicate flower incapable of doing anything for yourself or others for fear of damage to the baby.  This has been especially annoying lately, as apparently the slightest little movement is likely to kick me into labor. 

If they are someone who has been pregnant, then you are this naive young thing who does not know the things that they know, for they have more pregnancy experience than you do and they must impart all of that wisdom along to you.

When someone breaks that mold it is a breath of fresh air.

Sweetie and I were in Colorado under the auspices of his 20th high school reunion.  Really, he just found it unacceptable that I'd never been, and it was as good of an excuse as any to get me there.  In addition to reunion activities we did a tour of his formative years, visited some friends in the area, and caught some baseball games.  A fun time indeed.

As luck would have it, a good friend of his from college was going to be in town for a conference while we were there.  And, as luck would further have it, a mutual good friend of theirs lives in Boulder with her partner and their 11 month old son.  We were able to synchronize our schedules such that all of us would gather together for an evening of food and frivolity.

Our hostess that evening, S, was, perhaps, the most kind and generous and least patronizing person I've yet to experience during this pregnancy.  I was still in the first trimester and not always loving life so much.  When we arrived at her home after greetings were exchanged she asked me, "Would you like a high protein snack?"  Not "Oh, you're pregnant, you need protein."  Simply - here's something that you might find appealing at the moment, what say you?

Later in the evening, when refilling beverages, she inquired if I might prefer Orange Juice to water - good source of folic acid, you know.  And gosh if that didn't hit the spot.

Sweetie was perusing an infant massage book they had sitting on a shelf - next thing you know, it's being passed along to us.

I've had some gracious hosts in the past, but S really took the cake that night.  And to combine it with other good friends and good food and a good game of Quickword, and you've got a darn near perfect evening.

State Memories: California

Due to a trip my father had won through his work my family found ourselves at Disneyland over a January weekend my sophomore year of high school.

As luck would have it, it was the weekend Star Tours was opening up so the park was open continuously from Friday morning until Sunday night and we were staying at the Disneyland Hotel.  My parents basically gave my brother and I free reign to run around as we chose, as long as we stuck together or with a couple of friends who were also down for the trip.

Friday it was my brother and I, since the friends hadn't arrived yet.  My brother wanted to ride Space Mountain.  I was a ride wimp (I blame that on my mother, for whatever it's worth), and did not.  He showed some compassion by working out a roller coaster training regimen for me. 

We started on the Matterhorn.  That was fun, I could handle it.

Then we moved on to Big Thunder Mountain.  There were a couple of stomach-clenching moments in the ride, but it was fun.  Even the stomach-clenching bits.  This roller coaster thing wasn't so bad after all.

But now we'd worked up to the big one.  Space Mountain.  My brother assured me that if I could handle the others Space Mountain would be no different, it was just in the dark.  The problem was my brother was not to be fully trusted.  A few years ago I took his word on a roller coaster at Magic Mountain: "it doesn't go upside down, only sideways, you've got nothing to worry about."  On that day he'd neglected to tell me that the roller coaster in question didn't have bars to hold you in, simply seatbelts.  When the 12 year old me asked the 15 year old him why we wouldn't fall out on the sideways bits his answer was "G-forces" and when I asked him what a G-force was his response was "Don't worry."  Now, I didn't fall out of the roller coaster, and the 36 year old me more-or-less knows why, but I worried a hell of a lot for that ride.

So, Space Mountain.  Did I trust him or did I bag?  The problem was, the line for the ride was about an hour long and he was pulling big brother privilege on me.  I had three options:  Go on the ride, wait outside the ride for him, or wait in line with him and bail at one of the many exits along the line for wimps just like me.  I decided to at least wait in line, sure I'd bail out before we reached the end, but the power of the older brother is strong and I ended up going on the ride.

And loving it.

White-knuckled and screaming as I was, I found it a lot of fun.  Rode it as much as possible as I could over the weekend.

The weekend was drawing to a close, and Sunday afternoon my dad asked if one of us would take him on Space Mountain.  He didn't want to go alone, and the way my mom is when it comes to amusement park rides you'd be lucky to get her on Dumbo.  I, of course, agreed, because I was a full-on Space Mountain convert at this time.

My father's last travels on Space Mountain had been nearly 10 years earlier - on another family vacation to Disneyland.  (My brother got sick after the ride, if memory serves) 

So we went.  And it was great.  And when we got off the ride my fifty-something father was looking a little pale in the face and as we were walking out of the building I remember his words well.  "Wow, that ride is a lot faster than it was last time we were here."

Which, of course, it wasn't.  It was just that my Dad had started to reach that age in his life where maybe the roller coasters aren't so fun anymore.  And I knew coming to grips with that would be challenging, so I held my mocking to a minimum.

State Memories: Arkansas

The traditional SwankPoet family vacation (well, thus far, it may change once there's a Hedgehog in the mix) has us traveling to a location that will allow Sweetie to get a couple of states knocked off his list in his quest to see a minor league baseball game in each of the 50 states.  We fly somewhere, rent a car, and go on a road trip to see at least a couple of baseball games and find some local fun and adventure along the way.

Thus, we found ourselves in Little Rock, Arkansas, for Spring Break 2008.  We would knock Arkansas and Missouri off the baseball list, and spend a few days checking out the Ozarks.

The first night of our trip we were scheduled to stay in Branson, which is about a 3-1/2 hour drive North of Little Rock.  We were in the area, so it seemed a necessary addition to the itinerary, and my parents offered us a night of free timeshare as a birthday present.

Our plane into Little Rock was late because we were flying through Chicago and it seems that if there is the slightest hint of weather anywhere in the world it will slow down the planes at O'Hare.  And Cmy luggage was nowhere to be found.

I reported it to the airline's luggage office and while they filed a report they really seemed to not care much at all.  They had no idea where my bag was or when it might be discovered.  But it would turn up eventually, usually within the first 24 hours, and then they'd deliver it to me.

This threw me into a tailspin.  The fact that I was hungry after a long day of flying didn't help things I'm sure.  I was without clothing or toiletries.  No one knew, or cared, when I might have those things again.  And my vacation plans took me away from Little Rock until the end of my vacation, staying somewhere different almost every night, so how the hell was my luggage supposed to get to me?

There was a chance my luggage would be on the last flight of the day into Little Rock (that was scheduled to arrive around 10 or 11 pm), but no one would know for sure until the plane touched down and the luggage was on the conveyor. 

Seriously, if anyone with any sort of power with an airline ever stumbles across this blog post, please contact me.  There are so many seemingly simple things y'all could be doing to make the process work so much smoother for people and could, potentially, save you a lot of money.  It makes my blood boil just thinking about the experience nearly a year later.

Anyhow, we were in a quandry.  Do we bail to Branson now, and pray my luggage catches up to me eventually?  Do we wait for that last plane of the night to come in and pray my luggage is there and we're alert enough for the middle of the night drive to Branson?

Luckily, Sweetie knew I wasn't thinking straight and took control of the situation.  We needed food, pronto.  He pulled out the Arkansas guide book and found a burger joint that supposedly had really good milkshakes - The Purple Cow.

As he acquired the rental car and started navigating our way to the restaurant I was on my cell phone with the airline trying to figure out what could be done in the short term while sorting out the long term problem of reconnecting me with my luggage.  Without too much challenge I got the airline to agree that they could reimburse me "reasonable expenses" to purchase clothing and toilitries to hold me over for the next 24 hours, but could only authorize expenses on a day-by-day basis until my luggage was found.  What was much more difficult was getting them to tell me what they considered "reasonable expenses."  Some people consider exclusively shopping at Nordstrom and the like "reasonable expenses."  I'm more an Old Navy gal myself, but still wanted to know what I was working with. 

The answer: $50.  To cover clothing and toilitries.  And we were staying in a time-share condo that night, not a hotel, so I couldn't even count on complimentary shampoo to help stretch the budget.  It would be at least 8:00 before we were leaving town, and we still had a cooler to stock as well.  My dreams of making it a week in Northwestern Arkansas without setting foot into a Walmart quickly faded into distant memory.

I came to grips with this fact over dinner.  I'm not normally a milkshake kind of gal, but I was tired and hungry and sad and upset and really just didn't give a shit, so I opted for a purple vanilla shake to go along with my burger.  I was tempted to order an "adult shake" (add a shot of your favorite liquer), but we did still have a bit of a drive ahead of us.  Damn, if that wasn't one of the best milkshakes I've ever had in my entire life.  And tasty food to go along with.

The restaurant was obviously a local's favorite, and while there we saw several families who were obviously regulars that the staff considered old friends.  The best sort of place there is.

Our wonderful meal was made even more wonderful by the phone call I received as we were wrapping things up and trying to get our heads around just what we were going to do next.  My luggage had been located.  In Jacksonville, Florida.  They could get it to Springfield, Missouri (not too far from Branson) the next morning, where I could pick it up and be reunited with my things.

We asked our server for directions to the best Walmart before we left the restaurant.  He pointed us in the right direction and sent us on our way.  And thus, the Arkansas adventure had begun.

And, while it does not qualify as a state memory, it does deserve mention when speaking of the state of Arkanas and, specifically, the city of Little Rock.  We returned to the city at the end of the week for baseball and the trip home.  Did you know there's a President Clinton Avenue in Little Rock?  There is.  That shouldn't necessarily surprise or amuse you.  But the bit that I will chuckle about until the day I die is the fact that it appears to be the center of the weekend nightlife for Little Rock college students and twenty-somethings.  Sweetie and I surmised that this is the street that was chosen to be named after President Clinton because it is the street where he spent most of his time while serving as Governor of Little Rock.

State Memories: Arizona

Eventually I'll have a state memory without some sort of caveat or justification necessary.  But this is not that memory.

In hindsight, I'm doubtful that this memory actually took place in Arizona.  We were traveling from St. Louis, Missouri, to Clayton, California, and according to Mapquest you do not travel through Arizona to make that journey.  (Mom, I know you read this blog, did we travel through Arizona?  Inquiring minds want to know).

Anyhow, in my mind this memory has always taken place in Arizona, if for no other reason than the scenery is what you imagine when you think of Arizona, so I'm calling it my Arizona memory.  My state memory project, my rules.

So, the memory.

Many children have imaginary friends.  Me, I had a whole tribe of them.  They were called the invisible people and they lived in the back yard of the house I grew up in in St. Louis. 

When I was about 4 we moved from St. Louis to Clayton, California. 

I have two memories of the trip:

One is singing "California here we come" incessantly.  Just the one line of the song.  Maybe two.  That's all we knew of the song, but we were coming and it had to be sung.

I also remember driving through "Arizona" (or the state pretending to be Arizona for the sake of this memory) and "watching" the invisible people riding along the desert mountains on horseback.  They were moving to California with us!  And, because there were probably 1 or 2 dozen of them they couldn't join us in the car, so rode alongside.

The invisible people must have liked California, because they did not follow us when we moved to Oregon.  They came and visited once, but best as I can tell they're still living in the Bay Area.  Hopefully they've made some new friends down there.

State Memories: Alaska

For an explanation of the State Memories project go here.  That's Sweetie's explanation.  I haven't been to as many states as he has, and I'm too lazy to try to figure out what state would be next on my list, so I'm adjusting the rules as I see fit.  My plan is if I have not been to a state, but I have a significant memory that involves that state, that shall be my "official" state memory.

And Alaska is just such a state.

Summer of 1993 I was working at a party rental and supply store in Portland, awaiting my Senior year of college.  It took me two years to complete my Junior year of college, with a significant sabbatical in the middle, and during that break from school I worked at this place and they brought me on for the summer.  It was a fun place to work, the only real side effect being I think I Halloweened myself out during my tenure there.

Anyhow, I was working one afternoon and two good friends of mine, plus a buddy of theirs, walked into the shop.  My friends were from Grants Pass, which is about a 4-5 hour drive from Portland, and these guys are not the party-planning types, so it was a bit of a surprise when they walked in. 

I questioned them with a "What the hell are you doing here?"  and there response was:

"We're going to Alaska to the summer to live in a tent and make a lot of money, you should come with us."

OK, let's weigh out the options here:

• While Alaska can be a lucrative place to work, jobs have not been lined up, and I had a pretty good job going at the moment.
• I like plumbing, and do not want to live in a tent for the summer.
• While the offer had been made, I had turned down the opportunity to share a house with these three guys at school the next year in which I had been promised exclusive rights to the master bedroom and bathroom.  A tent, in Alaska, no way, no day.

So, I turned them down, but promised them a bon voyage party that evening instead.  That was the night that we confirmed that a car's headlights will not shine through a jug of Terminator.

I heard from the boys a couple of times while they were in Alaska.  This was the days before cell phones, so the campers would line up at the pay phone outside of the local K-Mart to call friends and family.  And, hearing the tales of their adventures I never once regretted my decision to stay in the continental 48 that summer.